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Everyone has heard the phrase “to the well trained mind, death is but the next great adventure.” As a society, we are terrified of this great unknown. We fear eternal suffering; we fear an unconstrained alternate path of reality. But most of all we fear the finality of death: the possibility of once again being nothing. This itchy dread should only bother the back of our minds, though. Because all of life is, after all, about death. Death is not bad. Death is not good. It just is. It always is.

To scientifically curious person, dying is the biggest answer to the final question. For the suffering, it is peace. To the religious, the end of this life signifies an everlasting reward. For us all, it is the top of the hill.It is the precipice, or maybe the fall. It is the destination to which we are always climbing, unbeknownst or otherwise. It is the only significant trait we all are forced to share: a bonding and equalizing characteristic. Every man has his day in the sun before relinquishing his spot so that someone else can use the light.

Death, then, is not the enemy. Death is just a dark absolute and the centerpiece of all nightmares. Why fear an end? Why is it that we are so intent on living but for nature’s purposes? If we are so above the beasts as we claim to be, then we are above this instinctual need to be alive.But we are animals of the earth. And dying too is our purpose. Death is not the final enemy. It is the only verdict in a court that does not discriminate. The gavel falls for all just the same. “Living is what scares me, dying is easy.”

deviantID

People sometimes ask me what I think of the future. It’s a variable; I worry that someday the people I care about will desert me, which I know eventually they will. I’m afraid this fear at times defines me. I yearn for those I care about most to feel the same for me even if it is not possible for them to do so. I want to apologize for my every wrong doing unto them. I fear that one day near the close I’ll look back at my days disappointed in myself for never being bold or intelligent enough to accomplish for what I find myself clutching- open air. But unlike variables in math, we never figure out what the future holds. For we are always living right now. The future never comes with the morning. Because the days just break, collapsing into a thousand shards. They collide with tomorrow, and turn gray with the past. The here and now you never forget because you always find yourself living it. I can’t see much into my future because it seems impossible that it can come. I have a bit of trouble perceiving; maybe I should fear my own short-sightedness. Most of the time I feel like I slip through life half awake, everything I love dispersing before I have the chance to even admire it. The pain of wounds vanishing before they sink in. I think I don’t fear specific things about the future, maybe more of the prospect that I don’t know what’s coming.My life is all based on what I do today, the chances I’ll trip upon. Which ones I miss when my eyes are closed or because I look ahead instead of at my feet. At least I know that when I clutch air what I’m holding still makes me breathe.